Dr. Walker's office is exactly what you'd expect from a high-end OB/GYN practice. The waiting room is decorated in soft, soothing colors. The chairs look comfortable, and there’s somehow a distinct lack of screaming children. I mean, where do they put them all? I glance around. There's got to be a nursery or some hidden panic room or something where they force the moms with kids to wait, right? So they don't disturb everyone else?
Yes, I'm aware my train of thought is stupid, but I'm also embracing the chaos in my head right now. It's a good distraction.
Black and white photos of pregnant bellies and new families, all looking unreasonably happy about the life-altering mess they’ve signed up for, decorate the walls. Meanwhile, I’m coated in a layer of nervous sweat and every second spent in this place brings me closer to a panic attack.
I check in at the front desk, grateful that the waiting room is nearly empty. The fewer witnesses to this disaster, the better.
"First time with Dr. Walker?" the receptionist asks as she hands me a clipboard full of forms.
"Yep," I say, taking the paperwork.
"You'll love him. He delivered my sister's twins last year. He's the best in Portland."
“So I hear.” I manage a tight smile and find a seat in the corner, as far from the other patients as possible. The formsare typical, wanting to know my medical history, insurance information, and last period.
I think we’ve already established it’s been a while, but I check the app on my phone to get the exact date.
Oh yay, looks like that weekend in Vegas was right in my ovulation window.
I hand in the completed paperwork and try not to fidget as I wait. My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out to find another text from Kasen.
Kasen: Ignore me all you want
Kasen: But it's not going away, Pink.
I stare at the screen with zero clue what to say. I’m literally sitting in the doctor’s office waiting to find out if he knocked me up.
Wait.
The timing of his texts is suspect, right?
Does he know I’m here right now? How could he possibly know? Did someone see me come in here? Did Dr. Walker call Clover because I name dropped her to get this appointment?
No, I’m just losing my mind is all. He can't know. I only just found out myself. Well, actually I know nothing yet. This could totally be food poisoning and a false positive. He's just trying to get me to sign the divorce papers.
Which just brings up another question I don’t want to answer: why do I keep putting him off?
My heart's racing, and another wave of nausea that has nothing to do with morning sickness and everything to do with panic starts to build. This is a nightmare. This is?—
"Wren Callan?"
I snap my head up, shoving my phone back into my purse without responding. The nurse is standing with a tablet in herhand, waiting for me to acknowledge that yes, I'm Wren Callan, and yes, I'm here because I'm probably not-maybe-definitely knocked up.
With my husband-slash-enemy's baby.
"That's me," I say, my voice shaky as hell as I rise to follow her.
The examination room is clean and clinical, with diagrams of female anatomy on the walls that make me want to look anywhere else. I'm sweating andoh my godI can't do this.The nurse takes my vitals, then asks a few preliminary questions.
"Dr. Walker will be with you shortly," she says with a reassuring smile before closing the door.
I try to regulate my breathing while I perch awkwardly on the edge of the examination table. The paper beneath me crinkles with every slight movement. I hate feeling this vulnerable, this exposed.
There’s a soft knock on the door before Dr. Walker steps into the room. He looks like I remember him from last year, tall and lean, with his hair pulled back in a bun. He’s younger and hotter than you want a man who’s going to be seeing your vagina in a clinical setting to be, but he’s also the best, so it is what it is.
"Ms. Callan," he says, extending his hand like we’ve never met before. "I'm Dr. Walker. Reed, if you prefer. It's nice to meet you officially.” He grins. “Now, what can I do for you? My receptionist told me you were having some sort of emergency?”
His handshake is firm but gentle. "Call me Wren.” I let his hand go, wiping my sweaty palm on my pants. "And yep, it's an emergency all right."
